


Patrick Has a Secret

by LilaHurley



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Body Worship?, But not on the usual suspects, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Happy, Happy Ending, Kissing, Love, M/M, Rimming, Smut, Tattoos, why do I always write someone eating ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 13:58:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12842640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilaHurley/pseuds/LilaHurley
Summary: Patrick hates that he has to get changed in the same room as everyone else, he has a secret about his body that no one can know.Of course Pete finds out, and shenanigans ensue.





	Patrick Has a Secret

**Author's Note:**

> I quickly wrote this between writing a chapter for another fic, you're probably all sick of us mentioning each other but flax_wench is partly to blame for this. But I love her with every bone in my body so yall will have to deal with it.  
> Chapter 3 for the Gay Chicken fic will DEFINITELY BE up tonight, my apologies for being flaky. Love you all!! 
> 
> Let me know what you think! <3

Fuck, Patrick thinks. _Fuck._ They've just been told they don't have time to shower before they have to go do an interview. Which means they all have to get changed in the same room. Which means they'll all see _it._

Patrick presses himself against the back wall, if he keeps facing into the room, no one will see it right? He pulls off his tight, sweat damp pants and quickly pulls on the clean and crisp pair he had packed in his bag.

Wait, _where was his bag?_

He whips his head around the room, looking for the black and purple duffel bag, he needs deodorant too, no way he could just zip his jacket over his stage shirt. Which he's already taken off and scrunched up in his hand. Stinky _and_ rumpled? Not a look.

He watches Joe and Andy file out of the room, fully changed, meaning only he and Pete were left.

"Have you seen my bag?" Patrick asks, still looking around the room. He holds his dirty shirt up to his chest to cover himself.

"The purple and black one?" Pete asks, he had a smirk on his face which means he does, in fact, know _exactly_ where Patrick 's bag is.

"Yes, dick, I can tell you know where it is. I want to get changed I stink." Patrick huffs. He watches Pete's vision flick to the table in the far corner, and if he squints he can make out the strap of his bag. He looks back over at Pete, locking eyes for a mere second before they both dive for the table, slapping weakly at each other as they fight for a hold on the bag.

Pete's laughing like a maniac, digging his wiggling fingers in Patrick's waist while Patrick spits curses and uses his knee to jab Pete in the abdomen, to no avail.

Patrick finally gets a good grip, yanking it towards himself and toppling over Pete's lower half as he loses balance.

Pete lays sprawled on the floor, panting and laughing weakly. Patrick shoves Pete's leg with his foot, bending to pick up his bag and turning to make his way back over to the corner.

"What the fuck is that?!" He hears Pete gasp.

Patrick blanches. Standing stock still in the middle of the room, his grip on the bag loosening until it falls to the floor with a _thump._

"I- I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Is that-" Pete cuts himself off to laugh, "Is that a fucking _tattoo?!"_

"No." Patrick snaps.

It _was_ a fucking tattoo.

"It is! You've had a tattoo for however long and you didn't tell me?" Pete sounds hurt.

Patrick turns to offer an apology and watches as Pete shuffles along the floor on his knees.

He stops at Patrick's feet.

Patrick gulps, he'd imagined a similar thing, but in a completely different scenario. Pete was staring up at him in disbelief.

"Turn around."

"Pete, we don't have time-"

"Patrick, turn around."

Patrick holds his breath, scrunching his eyes closed and turning slowly. The moment his back is to Pete, his hips are grabbed, and his ass is pulled back.

"Oh my god, is that a kitten?" Pete laughs.

Patrick is about to say something back, but he feels Pete's cool, calloused fingers brushing across the small of his back.

"Why did you get a kitten tattoo above your ass?" Pete laughs, retracting his hand and placing them back on Patrick's hips.

"I uh, I was really drunk, and my boyfriend at the time kept calling my ass a "pussy", and we both found it so funny, we did it impulsively." Patrick finishes. He's blushing, surely his back is flushed too, with how hot he's running.

Pete laughs, "Well, you kept it well hidden, you haven't had a boyfriend for at least a year right?"

Patrick is about to answer but Pete brushes his hands across the tattoo, taking note of Patrick's breath hitching. He runs his fingers across it with more pressure, gripping Patrick's hip with his other hand.

Patrick hisses, about to tell Pete to knock it off, he wants to get dressed, when he feels Pete's soft lips press against his lower back.

"Pete?" Patrick breathes, inhaling sharply when Pete nips his skin, "What are you doing?"

"Something I've wanted to do for a _long time."_ Pete whispers, leaning in to press a soft, wet kiss on Patrick's burning body. He sucks on the next kiss, both hands finding a grip on the waist of Patrick's pants and pulling them down slightly.

"This okay?" He breathes into Patrick's skin. He continues kissing his back, steadily getting lower.

"Yes, yes." Patrick pants, he's half hard already. He grips his crotch with a shaking hand, tilting his hips back so his ass sticks out more. Pete groans, reaching around to get to the button on Patrick's pants, then groaning even louder when he feels Patrick gripping himself. He pops the button, and pulls the tight pants down around Patrick's thighs.

He bites the globes of Patrick's ass through his underwear, biting the waistband and pulling it out til it can't be pulled anymore, and letting go so it snaps back on Patrick's skin.

"What do you want?" Pete asks.

 _"Anything,_ anything you want."

"Bend over the couch, knees on the cushions." Patrick complies, walking to the best of his ability while his bunched up pants prevent him from taking any real steps. He hears Pete giggle and stifle a moan behind him, turning to cuss him out, but stopping when he takes in Pete's appearance.

Pete is, well, dishevelled. His shirt is off and thrown into a corner somewhere, he's flushed down to his chest, his dark nipples peaked and his hair sticking up at all angles. But the thing that really takes Patrick's breath away is Pete's hand. It's down his pants, clearly stroking himself.

Patrick bites his lip, hoping to conceal an embarrassing whine, but it must slip out because Pete pulls his hand out of his pants, marching over to manoeuvre Patrick into the position he asked for.

He roughly throws Patrick forward onto the couch, pushing him down by the neck so his his back arches and his ass thrusts out. Pete yanks down Patrick's pants, exposing his cheeks which already have red bites marks on them, and pulls his perfect buttocks apart to immediately lean in and lick across his tight hole.

Everything is silent for half a second, before Patrick moans low in his throat and pushes his ass back further.

"More," He pants, he hears Pete's breath hitch behind him, _"Please do it again."_

Pete leans in again, burying his face and sucking at Patrick's rim. Patrick whines and grinds his hips, and Pete realises belatedly and he's trying to get friction on his cock, so he reaches around and gets a good grip. Patrick cries out even louder, conflicted between pushing back onto Pete's face and thrusting forward into the ring of his fingers.

Pete doesn't stroke, he just holds Patrick's throbbing, leaking member, occasionally letting go to run his finger along the tip to gather the beads of precome gathered there, and running the pearly liquid down the length of Patrick's shaft. Meanwhile he's licking messily at Patrick's ass, lightly pushing against the resistance of his hole with a pointed tongue, just waiting for Patrick to start begging.

It doesn't take long.

 _"Please-_ please put it in, I need m-" Patrick cuts himself off and screams as Pete not only pushes his tongue in as far as it'll go, but pushes in one finger alongside it.

Patrick has never felt this good. Sure, he's had plenty of fingers, toys, and real cocks buried deep inside him, pushing against his walls and stretching him out. He loves the burn, usually it's one of his favourite parts, the slow intimacy of adjustment, when both parties are still, holding each other close and panting into each others mouths. But he's never had someone eat him out.

He comes back to reality when Pete curls his fingers and presses on that one spot that makes Patrick scream. He starts babbling undignified streams of words, curses and grunts of Pete's name.

Patrick turns his head to look behind himself, and he's rewarded with the top half of Pete's head, his eyes closed in bliss while his tongue massages the softness of Patrick's ass. One hand is up by his face, his finger buried deep and prodding at Patrick's prostate, the other is-

Fuck, the other I'd reaching down, the muscles in Pete's arms tensing as he furiously jacks himself. Patrick suddenly feels so much closer, knowing _he's_ doing that to Pete. His ass, hell, his stupid fucking _tattoo_ has Pete doing the most sinful of things.

Patrick turns his head forward and grips his own cock, stroking hard and fast, feeling his balls draw up tight as the coil in his stomach releases. He whines loudly as he continues to stripe the couch with his come, his orgasm seemingly never ending.

He feels Pete's tongue and finger leave his ass, and then Pete's chest against his back.

Patrick pants into the cushions, half of his face pressed into the fabric while he catches his breath. Pete softly bites Patrick's shoulder pressing kisses across the back of his neck and then biting at the other shoulder. His jaw clenches around Patrick's skin as Pete comes, the head of his cock pressed against the stupid tattoo on the small of his back.

Pete collapses against Patrick, gulping down air and occasionally kissing his spine.

Patrick musters the strength to turn around and flop down, his bare and sticky ass making contact with the couch, but he can't find it in himself to care. Pete flops down in top of him, their warm fronts pressing together. Patrick brings his arms up and wraps them around Pete, who hums contentedly and pushes his face into Patrick's throat.

"I love your tattoo." Pete whispers.

Patrick barks out a laugh, turning his head to press kisses all over the side of Pete's face that's exposed.

"I like your everything." He smiles back.

"I _love_ your everything." Pete counters, he lifts himself up and busies himself with brushing his fingers across Patrick's collarbones.

Patrick breathes in sharply, cupping Pete's cheeks and bringing their foreheads together. Pete stares into Patrick's eyes, his own eyes struggling to focus.

"You're everything." Patrick whispers before he pulls Pete's lips to his own. They kiss softly and sweetly, happy with the afterglow they're both feeling.

The feeling ends when Andy bangs on the door.

"When you're done fucking, the bus is waiting!" He yells. Pete laughs and looks back at Patrick, raising an eyebrow.

"Wanna share a bunk?"

"I bet you say that to all the girls." Patrick laughs back.

"Nah, only the small ones with dicks and cute kitten tattoos right above their ass." Pete winks.

Maybe he could talk Patrick into getting a tattoo above his dick.


End file.
